Altruism Over Blood
by Unbeknownst To All
Summary: A gruesome short story depicting the bloodshed of war with a tint of a soldier's perspective and realism.


Corporal Frank Jaeger did not awaken to the conventional Staff Sergeant's voice, heartily

scolding the firing squad awake which often resembled the squabble of the boy's mothers, instead he

was awakened by the call of death; the sound of malignant banshees screeching, heralding death and

destruction in the embodiment of lustrous, metallic projectiles pounding the very Earth itself. The

ground shook ruthlessly, as though the Earth had been mortally wounded. Frank hastily shook

himself, snapping himself out of a stupor due to his recent sleepiness and swiftly reacted to his

surroundings. Frank's surroundings was synonymous to an assiduous day of Hell as the air, tainted by steel

death's trails of smoke and ember transformed the forest into a gruesome cesspool of human

gore and destructive steel– the trees weren't trees, they were weapons of mass destruction, becoming a

gargantuan-sized fragmentation grenades as shells mercilessly pulverized them, scattering tree-fragments at

deathly high velocity to the forest's night-inhabitants. _Goddamn, we were caught off-guard._ Frank thought to

himself, as he surveyed the scene in front of him. Men– no, boys were being massacred; the replacements

for his squadron were merely adolescents, hastily dispatched by headquarters to make up for Frank's

battalion's recent casualties that decimated his division's manpower. The original troops were trained, ready

for war and organized but these ones weren't soldiers: they were fresh from civilian life, with their belts,

dapper suits and ties recently removed and were immensely unprepared for the upcoming conflict. Frank could tell flagrantly who had been a veteran, or at least a trained soldier compared to the men in front of him panicking, dropping their arms, and making foolish mistakes. A shell exploded in the proximity of a foxhole adjacent to Frank's and a conscript immediately cried out, "MAM– MAAAAMAAAA!" as his torso

navigated the air, spewing it's entrails and innards around him. Frank heard the screech, the screech that

often reminded him of the bald eagles back home that released a voracious, bloodcurdling cry before goring

it's prey and devouring it, that allowed him to anticipate an imminent swipe of Death's scythe at Frank's

life. Frank swiftly rose and made a dive for the nearest foxhole and managed to escape the grasp of the

shell's annihilation miraculously and scrambled next to the squad's Staff Sergeant, often the leader of

squads, and spewed out of his mouth an attempt to communicate "Sir! What do we do now sir!" as life and

death continued in the bloodbath. "I don't have a Goddamned clue to what we should be doing next, the

German offensive should come after this salvo of artillery." retorted the Sergeant, "At least Jerry's given us a

wake-up call."

Frank disliked the Sergeant's diehard mindset to being shelled, but saw the significance in the

context: the battalion was now wide awake, despite heavy casualties. Frank gazed blankly as the squad-mate

in his recent foxhole was impaled by a foot-long wooden splinter that nailed him to the cold, heartless

grass ground by his neck; his attempts at a yelp for help becoming incomprehensible spluttering due to his

damaged vocal cords, protruding from his neck's gaping hole and spurted blood prolifically in the night,

discolouring the crimson red of one's blood into a morbid black. _Goddamn, where's our arty_, thought Frank

as the pandemonium continued before him. He quickly slapped on his helmet with a red cross insignia

etched on it's center, depicting that he's a combat medic, and promptly dashing between casualty to

casualty through the molten rain, with intense difficulty, attempting to rate whether one was condemned to death, or salvageable with enough effort. He systematically labeled the injured in his head, and went to treating them when he heard the terrifying roar of a panzer. He twisted his head to the side and analyzed the incoming threat: two dozen German panzergrenadiers, two Tiger tanks, and a half-track. Frank hurriedly raised his head and broadcast:

"Contact! Two tigers and a platoon of German troops heading this way!"

suddenly in response, the battalion's purloined 88mm anti-tank gun slammed into the center of a Tiger

and swiftly laid it to rest. The tank's crew scrambled out like ants and screeched, smoldering in agony from

the petrol flames caused by the tank's engine . The panzergrenadiers opened fire, imbuing the squad with steel precipitation. Our commandeered MG-42s burst out in controlled, short intervals that downed a line of German troops with each burst, until accurate German shelling managed to destroy the anti-tank gun and front-line trench troops. A pseudo-symphony of men screaming "MEDIC!" could be heard as the

explosives went off in the front trench; Frank watched in sympathy as numerous soldiers and severed limbs

flew in the air, dispensing meat in all directions.

The German position was advancing; the dead, gray trench-coats of the Axis troops clambered

forward, seizing every worthless inch of ground with only lives instead of coins. Death could be perceived

through all five senses: one would feel the ground shake- sulking for another death on the field- or hear the

traumatizing screeches of men and shells collide- enough to put a troop into combat exhaustion within

minutes- or smell the stench of bloated corpses- riddled with maggots feasting upon the cadaver rain

devouring mercilessly every piece of flesh left on the dead- taste the flavour of blood- ever present all over,

the crimson sap pouring from every orifice imagined causing many to wish they didn't have blood

themselves- or, worst of all, absorb the brunt of the massacre through vision- elucidating vivid, surreal

images of the ways of dying- many wouldn't survive this slaughter physically, and the ones who do live on

are mannequins of their real selves, never able to recuperate from such an amoral, unorthodox mixture of

life's heinous and unethical aspects swirled together into a bottle and a cork called war. Frank gazed at the

light face of a young German troop, and raised his rifle. Frank despised the sound of his rifle, how it's

piston smashed a bullet into and out of the chamber after each shot. Every little shot reminded him of

the sound of gavels back home, where he dealt "judgment" to criminals whether they were innocent or not.

Frank's father was a prosecutor, one whom actually enjoyed his job punishing the bad. Though, his record

as a prosecutor mattered more to him than actually fathoming the truth out of a case so he ruthlessly

condemned innocents to death sentences, decades of jail, and more. Frank couldn't live with him, he

loathed his father and despite his father's wishes for Frank not to head to war Frank volunteered anyways.

His father was narrow-minded, obstinate, abrasive and pugnacious, he resembled a fat pig, voraciously

tearing at scraps and fattening itself- ignorant of the larger idea. Steel eagerly met the German soldier's face

and tore it apart. Frank surveyed another squad of German troopers heading his direction and let out

another volley of bullets at the group. Each fell, cold, lifeless like a bunch of figurines splattering on the

floor, giving a few twitches of life before fading. After the last Jerry died, Frank cursed out loud:

"Oh Lord, I despise this bitter fighting that we endure." recited hypocritically as he simultaneously

slammed another round into a nearby man's head. He glanced left and right, soldiers, both Axis and Allied,

cried out of salvation with their hands held out as though attempting to grasp their strings of life once more

for rejuvenation. Frank hastily grouped each wounded into categories, and finally concluded solemnly that

most of them could not be saved with his present medical supplies and rushed for a position clear of

enemies. He fled into an intertwining tree with a gap between it's roots, and jumped into it's cover.

Something rustled in the bushes and Frank drew his rifle.

"_H-hilfe- bitte, meine Frau und meine Kinder_..." muttered an adult German soldier, lying on the floor with

an open chest wound bleeding profusely. He held out a pocket picture of his wife and kids at home, both

which smiled delightfully with a beaming father in the middle being embraced in pure affection. The photo

was stained with the wet tears of sorrow that the man would never return to such a fantasy.

Frank raised his rifle at the soldier's head in combat rage, slammed a bullet into it's chamber and aimed.

A crack was heard as the rifle dropped to the floor, rolling on the floor and rested in the cool grass.

"Stop moving and keep your hands on the ground." commanded Frank in perfect German, "If you make any sudden movements I won't hesitate to kill you."

"_D-danke, Gott siegne Sie_" muttered the injured troop, thanking Frank and blessing him for such sudden

altruism.

Frank begun a short, casual conversation with the soldier, attempting to apply anesthetic with speech.

"What's your name?" asked Frank as he prepared his surgical knife, ripping of the man's clothing in the

proximity of the chest wound.

"Aloysius, my friend." replied the soldier, gritting his teeth in preparation of the pain.

Frank surgically tore into the man's chest, ripping flesh and extracting a fragment of shrapnel and a steel

bullet.

"Nice name." retorted Frank, proceeding to suture the wounded area and applying anti-biotic gel and

injecting plasma. He skillfully placed artificial membranes and biotic gel for a swift recovery, and topped it

off with a brilliant suturing and bandaging of the wound. Despite the man's gruesome groaning and

moaning from the pain and lack of anesthetic, he managed to grunt out a thanks before blacking out.

Satisfied with his philanthropy, Frank rose to gaze into the face of a German officer. He swiftly grasped the

German officer's pistol arm and swung it back, dislocating the officer's wrist and elbow before grasping the

pistol and knocking the man on the floor.

"Do not move and stay down!" shouted Frank with an attempt at a threatening tone.

The man crumpled into the floor, then suddenly raised a concealed sub-machine-gun and gave Frank's

direction a spray of bullets. Frank nailed the pistol bullet into the officer's skull, and sighed for the man's

idiocy; if the man did not resist he would not have died. Frank turned around to inspect Aloysius' body,

but received a sudden blow to the back of the head and blacked out.

A hellish throbbing replaced the coffee and rations Frank usually acquired when waking up. He

rubbed his head, let out a long earned groan, and opened his eyes to meet Aloysius' eyes lying adjacent to

him in the room. Frank jolted forward in an attempt to stand up to realize that he was strapped to a stool.

The scene reminded him of a interrogation room, often exaggerated as a Gestapo torture room in the

general infantry army.

"What's happening?" muttered Frank in a stupor.

"You're held captive, and the Generalleutnant is planning to try you for murdering an officer dear to us."

replied Aloysius, "For all I know they're going for an execution."

"What? That directly contradicts the Geneva Convention of keeping P.O.W.s alive and safe!" Frank swore, "It's committing a war crime!"

"Have you any idea of the war crimes committed in this war?", sighed Aloysius, "Your troops executed our S.S. Waffen like they were paper dolls."

"Is this what I get for doing my job?" retorts Frank, slapping his red cross helmet.

"I'm sorry I can't do anything about it." cried Aloysius, "I've been attempting to negotiate with the commanding officer to reconsider, but they're doing it anyways."

"Damn... nothing that I can do about it." says Frank, then reminisces about the moments where he rescued Aloysius "Those pictures- of your wife and kids."

"Oh, these?" chuckles Aloysius as he fetches the pictures out, "I miss them dearly."

"What're their names?"

"Ada is my wife." Aloysius points at the two children and smiles bitterly, "This one's Albert and this one's Alois- named after me."

"You think you'll ever get to see them?"

A sudden silence drenched the room; the hands of the clock stopped weaving and the colour from Aloysius' face faded.

"I was going to see them before you came along." Aloysius stared up blankly at the ceiling. "They were killed in a terror bombing incident."

"I- I'm sorry about that.." apologized Frank, "Both sides have suffered greatly, I suppose."

"You have anyone dear at home?" says Aloysius, attempting to grin.

"Y-yeah... I have a fiance." mutters Frank with profound melancholy, "Don't think I'll be able to see her anymore."

"I know how it feels." Aloysius warmly grasps Frank's cold, lonesome hands with his. "Don't worry."

Frank laughed, "You're kind for a German."

"You're no worse."

The door swung open and two grim-looking men donning black coats of the Gestapo walked in and

ordered Aloysius out curtly then proceeded to knock Frank's chair over.

"What division do you belong in!" barked one of them in crude English. "Where are the locations of your battalion and artillery emplacements?"

Frank hesitated, he did not wish to betray his comrades and condemn them to a fate worse than hell and

instead foolishly cursed in their faces. The two officers began brutally kicking Frank in the chest.

"Don't screw with us, tell us your battalion's key points or you will-" the officer brandished a knife and flaunted it in front of Frank's neck, "Execute you here, and now you Allied swine."

Frank refused to talk, anticipating a further beat-down he flinched in the phantom pain. Instead, the two

officers reluctantly moved out due to a sudden two shouts.

"Your time will be over tomorrow, before dusk." threatened the German, "I hope you enjoy watching Death

crawl closer."

Frank cursed out loud at the two Germans before they left, and gazed at the ceiling in absolute despair.

He fetched out a picture with his wrists and managed to budge it in front of his chair. Frank gazed down,

solemnly at the picture with anguish and attempted a faint smile. Sorrie's mouse-brown hair, trailing in

amiable flourishes down to her shoulder encompassed her intricate face on three sides, with petite paths of

hair drooping over her face blocking segments of her eyes. Despite the obstacles, her hazel eyes still visually

looked into Frank's soul as though she could comprehend and perceive Frank's surroundings and situation

from half the world away.  
"Won't be able to see you ever again, Sorrie'." he muttered as tears materialized in his eyes.

"Oh, hell, I miss you- I wish I could talk to you one more time, see you once more, listen to you talk and comfort me."

Frank recalled the memories of his beloved Fiance for hours, tears seeping from his eyes into the ground in

regret of his choices. Aloysius suddenly appeared in front of Frank, still in a daze.

"Is that your wife?" comments Aloysius as he kneels to take a closer glance, "I'm jealous, she's cute."

Frank, as mute as a rock, smiled at the comment.

"One of the plethora of reasons I want to see her again." sighs Frank woefully, "What time is it?"

Aloysius twitched, as though struck by an arrow. "I- I.. Even through all my begging they did not let you

have a lighter sentence, I'm sorry but I came here to tell you that it's time."

"I've been expecting it." replied Frank, attempting to rid Aloysius' guilt by smiling.

"T-they ordered me to be the executioner." he said, revealing a German Kar98k rifle. "I-I'm very sorry."

Frank equipped an apparel of complete serenity, as an attempt to prevent Aloysius from feeling guiltier.

The two navigated out of the prison with Aloysius in the lead and with a snail's pace clambered outside to

the execution grounds. A line of German soldiers saluted in Aloysius' presence, and the officer smirked

cynically with a sadistic aura.

"Looking forward to this, Aloy?" remarked the officer, "I hope you savour this moment where you slay an

enemy to the Fatherland."

It seemed as though Aloysius received a sledgehammer through the entire body when the words slammed into him; Frank noticed Aloysius bearing a concealed rage.

"Don't worry about is, Aloy, it's not you deciding to shoot; it's him." said Frank in an attempted consolation.

Aloysius nodded, and proceeded to the center of the grounds. The execution field resembled a baseball

field, with an odd shaped etching in the ground donning the contours of a baseball triangle with a large

fence on four sides. A German flag flew gallantly in the wind, along with a trail of abandoned Allied flags

drooped, all burned to a crisp except one. A Canadian flag was loosely raised, the flag mended meticulously

though roughly with bullets. It shuddered in the wind, reverberating a nostalgic sound across the terrain

that often invoked a patriotic feeling. Time seemed to travel in a crawl, attempting to annihilate Frank's

sanity. The officer raised his hand, and Aloysius raised his rifle and cocked it.

"I'm sorry, Frank." he said, raising a miniature Canadian flag, purloined from Frank's uniform and smiled as he discarded it in the air, and flew away into the darkness.

The sky, air, and ground was coloured pitch black by the night, and Frank was suddenly illuminated by a

large spotlight.

"Let this be a warning to all those who associate themselves with the Allied scum." cackled the officer, and gave directions for Aloy to aim.

Frank clenched his eyes shut, and could only think about his Fiance. An infinite loop of speech spewed in

his mind drenching his spirit in despair for his inability to resist and meet his beloved again; his mind was

imbued with lament for not being able to meet Sorelyn one more time in a time which seemed to Frank

like a millennium happened in a couple of seconds. Aloysius raised his rifle, aimed, and heard the order to

fire. Two clacks of the gavel was audible throughout the field, and the soldiers cheered. A corpse fell,

bloodied and seeped out fresh blood, robbed of it's crimson colour and transformed into a crisp black,

viscous liquid grasping at the ground.

_ Is this heaven?_ thought Frank, expecting extensive pain only to be

surprised by the null feeling. He opened his eyes and surveyed the field; the officer's body laid in a

crumpled mess, pouring out black blood as though it was the evils crawling out of his body.

"Why am I not dead?" shouted Frank in new-found glee and surprise. He glanced at Aloysius, whom had

brimming tears in his eyes and nodded at Frank. Frank grinned at him, and gave him a thumbs up, and

then realized Aloysius' plans. Aloysius brought his rifle up one more time and brought it up his mouth.

"W-what, Aloy, no! Stop!" screamed Frank in an attempt to persuade him not to.

"Farewell, Frank, I'm happy to have made this choice." recited Aloysius, "Farewell, and thank you."

A cacophony of consonant sounds, drumming up into an orchestra of voice swirled up and resonated across

the sky as the gavel slammed once more. The sky was vividly and fluidly brightened by the rising dusk, and

brought life to death once more. Frank saluted at the German flag, and screamed in his mind how great a

soul Aloysius was. The rising divinity hastily painted it's way throughout the field and returned Aloysius'

corpse it's colour. The clouds ahead dissipated, allowing a radiance of light to shine across the entire field,

and dispersed in a burst of light. In that moment, Aloysius' blood stopped drivelling, and Frank fled.

"So this is what happened, Frank?" said John with an edgy tone.

"Yeah, of course. I wouldn't be here today without Aloysius." replied Frank, "Bless that soul."

John glared down his rough spectacles- psychiatry at it's finest.  
"Mr. Jaeger, I am under the impression that your husband is showing symptoms of psychoneurosis."

announced the psychiatrist with a look of doubt, "It says here in the records that there was no one named 'Aloysius' in the German battalion situated there."

Frank met his wife, Sorrie's eyes with his.

"John, I was saved by him. Without him I would have never survived that ordeal." replied Frank.

"Body counts and records show he doesn't exist." coughed out John, tired of this problem. "Just admit it Frank, it's a proud honour to be captured after killing two officers, a dozen paratroopers just to escape again, killing a German group's leader."

"Damn it, John, why won't you just listen! Aloysius was a dear friend of mine and sacrificed himself for my life!" cried Frank, as he raised his voice, "He's the only reason why I still have a sliver of humanity left in me."

"It's a fine spring day, we shouldn't be talking about the sorrowful past." smiled Sorrie at the two, "Why don't we leave Aloysius to rest without bearing this, Frank?"

Sorrie abruptly stood up, strode to the window and opened it. A mystic gust of refreshing air uplifted the dreary office- donating to the boring monotonous business room a tint of a spring meadow.


End file.
